But I don’t want Horcruxes

I’ve been thinking a lot about the move out to L.A. recently.

We start out the Transition with lofty ideals and passion. But soon, Capitalism comes knocking for penance.

I face the following moral dilemma: I could keep struggling in the Funemployment deluge, or I could take up writing gigs that involve mass producing listicles (i.e. 32 Places Hair-ties Never Are or 15 Reasons Why Listicles Are My Enemy or 0 Words of Meaningful Content) that guarantee viral love and attention. Becoming a factory of mindless drivel sounds like it would kill my soul, but sadly, listicles are the one thing in the entry-level writing market that pay handsomely.

However, in my mind, I consider taking up such gigs to being the writer’s version of “selling out.” Is it possible to make it through this world without splitting your soul into multiple Horcruxes?

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